


Le Chat Noir

by BonGarland



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Mischief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonGarland/pseuds/BonGarland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki's antics piss off Darcy, he hopes one of his alter egos can garner some sympathy. This was totally inspired by my cat and I'm so sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Chat Noir

**Author's Note:**

> I've got Loki fever, and it's making me write like crazy. Something light here, to counter the angst of the last two posts! Credit for the idea goes solely to...my cat, Raven, a beautiful ebony-furred, emerald-eyed thing in her own right. Enjoy!

Darcy Lewis was furious, and it was a pretty frightening spectacle, if you were anyone but Loki, god of mischief. Sometimes even if you were him.

"What did you do?! What is your problem, Loki?!" The mortal girl had no qualms about getting her bitch face on in the face of a demigod, no problem whatsoever. He needed to be put in his place. "I went out for coffee with a friend and that somehow cues you to make a complete disaster of a simple thing-"

"He couldn't keep his eyes off your chest-"

"You know what, ninety percent of the people I encounter in a day can't do that, including yourself, wait, why were you watching, anyways?! But I suggest you drink some acceptance tea and suck it up, Mister." With that, the feisty brunette had hurled her messenger bag at the couch, going straight to her bedroom and slamming the door with Thor-like force, leaving a six-foot tall god meekly staring after her.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Darcy had been typing a boring report for Jane in a lab at SHIELD when Clint Barton had dropped by the lab, heading for the weapons department in the corner of the warehouse-like facility. He was waggling a snapped arrow in his hands and whistling casually, looking deadly as hell even doing that. He dropped the broken missile on the desk of one of the arsenal techies, who dropped the pen and paper he'd been scribbling on, and looked petrified even as Clint appeared to speak calmly to him.

It'd be awesome to go to coffee with that guy.

So she asked him, sparing no thought for the emerald and ebony-clad god who appeared in her apartment most evenings. "Yo, Barton!"

He'd been crossing back towards the main door and coming her way anyways, and raised a brow in her direction as he slowed. "Lewis? What's up?"

"Wanna go for coffee later?!" She bellowed, hands cupped around her mouth.

He appeared to think for a moment, then cupped his own hands around his mouth as he roared across the room, in the affirmative.

"I'm off at three!" She yelled back, and he gave her a thumbs up.

When he met her at the lab door, on time to the second, she flashed him a brilliant grin, before her brow furrowed. "Widow lady won't be mad right, I mean, this is totally platonic, even though you're smokin', I mean let's be honest dude, but I totally just wanna see Starbucks through the lens of sipping a latte with a master assassin who brings his bow to Walmart-"

He broke into her rant with a laugh that echoed down the hall, and she was glad he could still laugh like that. "Natasha actually gave me an order to pick up for her afterwards, and judging by the volume of ink on this post-it, I might regret it if we do this too often." He proffered the yellow sticky note, covered in words like "soy", "low foam", and "nonfat cinnamon", which Darcy was sure wasn't a thing.

Jubilantly, she linked arms with the archer, and they set off for a café.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

But once they got there, all hell broke loose. Clint, sure-footed as they come, slipped on what later turned out to be a cup sleeve on the ground, which sent him careening into a nearby chair, spilling hot coffee across his hand and forearm. Darcy nearly volunteered to mop at that muscled arm for him, but he waved her off, laughing off the moment of clumsiness and getting a quick refill from the barista behind the counter.

Once they'd finally seated themselves without incident, Darcy ran him through a list of questions she had actually compiled, like right off a list. He was happy enough to answer them, occasionally throwing in a "You know I'll have to kill you for this, right?" and it delighted her. This was the start of a beautiful friendship, and she earnestly told him so. Then a bottle of sugar, to the right of Clint's arm, suddenly toppled over and into his lap.

Darcy stared until she realized she was staring at his crotch for far longer than socially polite, if the act was even socially polite to any degree to begin with, and her eyes met Clint's astonished expression.

"What just happened?"

"Attack of the coffee condiments, it seems."

Clint cautiously removed the sugar shaker from his lap, holding it between thumb and forefinger as if afraid it would bite. "Does this need to be sanitized or anything…?"

"I think it's just been baptized-"

"-what?"

"Nothing!" Darcy grabbed the sugar from him, brushing at the nozzle with her sweater's sleeve before hastily setting it back where it had been.

They settled back into conversation, Darcy leaning closer and closer across the table in rapt concentration as Clint told her a bit about Budapest, and his partnership with Natasha ever since. Just as he got to a climax in his tale, hand gestures and all, he paused, giving the little gasps that indicate a sneeze's imminent arrival.

Then he sneezed. He definitely sneezed, strong enough to rock his chair back a few inches, leaving him sniffling and bewildered.

"Aw hun, I think you're getting sick! Too much superpowering and too little beauty sleep!" Darcy admonished, standing. "Here, gimme the postit and I'll get Natasha's drink. You wait here, and then we'll call it a day!" Trying to covertly blow his nose, Barton nodded, looking miserable.

She returned a few moments later, brandishing a cardboard carrier with a cup for the Widow in it. "We'll kick it another time Clint, this was fun!" He sent her a sheepish look, grabbing her offering. "I'll try not to sneeze or trip or get funky with the sugar next time…" She was still laughing when he exited the coffee shop before her, until she noticed a familiar form outside, across the street. He turned quickly and feigned nonchalance, wandering off, but she knew that tall, dark-haired lankiness like no other, and squawked in realization, grabbing her bag and dashing out the door.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Running blindly across the road, Darcy didn't even pay attention to traffic until a yellow taxi blared its horn and she dodged it, losing her balance in the process. She was already well across the road and there was only the gutter to fall into, but strong arms suddenly halted her tumble into the storm drain.

She opened her squished-shut eyes that had been fearing impact, only to meet a brilliantly-emerald green gaze, narrowed in concern. "Darcy? Why are you playing in traffic? Isn't that one of the base rules of humans, not to do so?" She shoved him off, disgruntled, and adjusted her coat and squared her shoulders, suddenly angry as hell.

"Home." Was all she said, storming past him on the pavement and heading towards her apartment, which was luckily only a couple blocks away.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Several hours after arriving home, Darcy was still in her room with the stereo blaring calming pan flute music, trying to concentrate on deciphering a page full of Jane's notes. She had homework with her job, homework. But it was something to think about other than the mischievous jerk lurking in her foyer, she supposed.

Deep in her work, she barely noticed the curtains fluttering until a loud meow sounded. She leapt from her chair, letting out something halfway between a squeal and scream, tripping over her own feet and falling on her butt.

A black cat had appeared on her desk, silent until that announcement of its presence. Its tail swung as it cocked its head at her, a paw outstretched questioningly.

"Oh hell no, you're not pulling the I'm-so-cute-though card on me tonight, god of jerkiness," she muttered with a scowl, inching backwards as the cat jumped down and stalked towards her, tail in the air. It looked immensely proud of itself, the light glinting off its green eyes and strange splash of golden fur across its shoulders.

"No…No…" Her defiance of its approach diminished as the cat reached her, nuzzling her knee with its head. She'd changed into a thin cami and short pajama shorts in preparation for bed, and the cat started to trail its head up her leg, pulling the material of her shorts up slightly. She yanked the material back down, scandalized, mouth open in annoyed amazement when the cat jumped between her legs. Undeterred, it sashayed towards her torso, standing on its hind legs and propping itself up with a paw on each breast, furry face in her face.

"You are a dirty, lecherous, filthy feline, and neither you nor any other incarnation of that jerk are gonna get any Darcy love tonight," Darcy ground out, shoving the cat away and climbing to her feet. The cat responded with a long, mournful meow, and she looked back down at it, mouth twisting to the side as she eyed it. Crouching quickly, she scratched it behind the ears, and rose again to pad to the kitchen.

A cup of instant ramen and a soda later, Darcy was on the couch, work abandoned as she flipped through tv channels. The cat had positioned itself on the edge of the couch behind her head, gradually slipping into a position where it was more or less draped lazily across her shoulders like an expensive, living scarf. She spared it a dirty look now and then, but the purrs emanating from the little beast were comforting.

"You shouldn't have reacted like that, I totally almost got a tattoo of a heart with your name on it two weeks ago, remember that girls' night I went out on? Yeahhh. Tequila, man. But this is that legit, you fool." She was even starting to talk like Loki, ugh. The cat responded to her reprimand merely by shifting on her shoulders, starting to knead her with its paws. "Ouch!"

When she was finally ready for bed, the cat seemed more than eager to come with her, tail in the air as it padded down the hallway, leading her to her own bedroom. She rolled her eyes, stopping short of the closed door, where the cat paced. "Can't even open a door yourself, why do I keep you around?"

She flung the door open, and after a few nighttime beauty rituals, climbed into bed with a satisfied sigh, snuggling into the bedspread. She was jarred slightly with the movement of the cat leaping up, and she let out an annoyed groan. Suddenly, the covers shifted, and a weight much heavier than a cat settled at her back, an arm coming around her waist like an iron clamp, a soothing, steady breathing reaching her ears.

"This is nice," she murmured, already groggy, "but try that again and I'll neuter you."


End file.
